


Containment

by varooooom



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varooooom/pseuds/varooooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's first impression on Steve is garbage. Prompted by <a href="http://noctunu.tumblr.com/post/84201804380/au-where-middle-schooler-steve-rogers-is-thrown">this</a> tumblr post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Containment

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure it's been done before but the idea hit me and wouldn't let go. This is vaguely shippy because everything about these two is vaguely shippy for me, _despair_. As a side note, I don't have Bucky introduce himself as such because I super secretly headcanon that Steve is the one that gave him that nickname, which I may also end up writing at some point.
> 
> Help. These two have taken over my life.

When something comes flying over the edge of the dumpster after him, Steve figures it must be today's thugs tossing garbage on top of him to rub salt in the wound. What he doesn't expect is a mess of dark hair, flailing limbs, and hollering; he tries his best to scurry into a corner to avoid getting crushed.

"Go- _lly_ ," the other boy says, rolling around in the muck to get upright. "Those guys are jerks!"

Steve wants to laugh or give a witty retort, some sort of agreement, but he's still trying to catch his breath from the fight and failing. It's not the worst attack he's had, else he'd be panicking about being a twelve year old punching bag for bullies that'll never learn it's not okay to toss an asthmatic into a confined space where they're likely to meet their untimely demise.

Oh, God. His mom's gonna be so mad.

"Hey. Are you all right, pal?" Steve doesn't answer. He's sitting in waste and there's something sticky clinging to his legs. His face hurts and there's a stranger kneeling in front of him, probably getting covered in the same mystery goo, watching him die. His life feels like a badly written cartoon sometimes. "Oh, man. You've got asthma, don't you? All right, what do you usually do? Do you smoke?"

At least that one doesn't take a verbal response. He shoots the boy a bewildered _glare_ , and he startles back with a laugh.

"Right, no. Pa said they used to, but it wasn't so - right. Uh," he keeps shifting around and Steve wishes he wouldn't. This would all be easier if he could just focus on breathing normally, but it smells and he's sore and - "Wait, I got it! C'mere."

Rough hands shoot out to grab his shoulders and Steve's first instinct is panic until he realises the kid is just trying to get him to sit upright. He lifts his head and sees the new face up close, blue eyes and shockingly red lips and eyebrows pinched into a strange sort of determination. Usually the other kids run away shrieking when Steve gets an attack, off to find an adult to handle his _episodes_ if they don't forget about him. But the boy squeezes his shoulders and digs his thumbs in, and an odd sense of focus builds from the pressure.

"Try to copy me, all right? Since I'm better at breathing than you," he smirks, not unkindly, "so just breathe with me, okay? Like this, here we go -"

It takes a few minutes of shakily mimicking the way he inhales deeply and exhales slowly before Steve finally starts to settle, a tingly calm spreading through his body as oxygen reaches his fingertips again. The boy doesn't let go of his shoulders until he's asked Steve if he's better approximately thirty times ( he wasn't counting, but if he did, he'd probably have reached thirty ), and then he's flopping back into bags of garbage with a whoop.

"Hot damn. I can't believe that actually worked!"

Steve flushes a little and kicks at the boy's foot.

"You shouldn't swear."

"Hey, I just saved a friend's life. I think I'm allowed a swear or two." 

He grins at him, and Steve can't help but unwittingly smile back. The word ' _friend_ ' didn't escape him, and he's just about to point out that they've never even seen each other before ( because thanking him seems wholly inadequate when he's done more for him than most anyone outside of a uniform, and even then, some ) when he's interrupted by a friendly knock on the shoulder. No one's this physical with him without meaning to - well, throw him in a dumpster, or something thereabouts.

"Why'd they toss you in here, anyway?"

Any hint of a smile drops from his face and Steve crosses his legs, picking dirt off of himself almost venemously. "Tommy was pushing Anna around. I told him to knock it off."

"Aw, that's just 'cause he's sweet on her."

"I don't care why he does it," Steve snaps, looking sharply up at the boy whose eyes widen in surprise. "A man that would raise his hand against a woman isn't any kind of man at all."

Surprise widens into something brighter, something Steve doesn't really have a name for because he doesn't recognize it. 

( Later, over a decade later, he finds out that if it had a name, it would've been respect. )

The kid leans back on his hands with a smirk. There's an easy way about him, all confidence and charisma, and why shouldn't there be? He looks strong and healthy in all the ways Steve isn't, only he's covered in the same amount of trash, looking for all the world like he's having the time of his life.

Steve decides the boy must be a little mad. And by the looks of it, he likes it that way.

"Well, well," he lauds cheekily, "Brooklyn's own hero. It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"Shut up," Steve laughs, kicking his foot again. The boy laughs with him and doesn't try to retaliate, takes it in kind for what it is. He's an odd thing; it makes Steve curious. "What about you? Why'd they throw you in?"

"Oh, they didn't," he says casually, scratching at his head, then realises how filthy it is and makes a face. 

"What." It's less of a question and more of a flat intonation of utter incredulity. Steve takes it back, this guy is a whole lot of mad. "Did you _jump_ in here?"

And he just shrugs in return, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, yeah."

"Why the Hell would you do that?"

"You shouldn't swear," he retorts, kicking Steve's foot with a grin. Steve rolls his eyes and kicks back.

"Don't be a jerk. My life was saved by an idiot, I'm allowed a swear or two."

His mouth opens with an indignant amusement that Steve takes a small amount of pride in, if only because it's the first time he's been able to properly joke about with someone without them immediately turning to insult. The word ' _friend_ ' comes back to mind and it's a wonder, along with everything else about this particularly strange stranger.

"Now, that ain't fair." He starts crawling across the heaps of trash, and Steve pushes more his way as a weak form of defense that ultimately fails when an arm goes around his neck and pulls his head to the boy's chest. He speaks through gritted teeth, lightly grinding his knuckles across Steve's scalp. Steve _laughs_ , because he _can_ , because the arm around him is loose and the hand in his hair is kind. Absolutely mad. "You ought to be kissing my shoes clean, you punk."

"As if - oh, _gross_." It's the only warning he gives before Steve takes whatever mulch his hand landed in and rubs it aimlessly behind him. There's a yelp ( a sound Steve fondly stores away for rainy days ) as he's released in favor of escape, and laughter fills the metal dump again.

"All right, all right, uncle." Steve keeps his hand up threateningly, eyebrows raised in open demand, and the boy sighs, shakes his head. "Look, I saw you crawling out of here last week or so and - hey, maybe you needed something that got thrown away, fair's fair. Then I saw Tommy and his hoods carrying you over here and figured why let them have all the fun?"

Steve frowns a little, shaking his ammunition off of his hand. "This is fun to you?"

"Nah, this is making myself at home. Getting Tommy between the eyes and sending him crying home to his momma was fun."

His eyes snap back up to see a lazy grin on the boy's face. "You hit him?"

"He deserved it, he's a bully."

Steve snorts. There've been more than enough bruises on his body to prove that point, but "Usually he's _my_ bully."

The boy shifts, leaning back against the wall of the dumpster beside Steve. "Yeah, well, he won't be anymore." When no response is forthcoming, because Steve can't understand for the life of him, he bumps their shoulders together. "I mean it. I told him he messes with you, we'll have another dance. See who's the real trash around here."

A moment of silence passes, because - really. Back to wholly inadequate, especially when nothing in the last ten minutes makes a lick of sense. Steve's brows are furrowed, eyes down, when he mutters, "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. But you'll find I don't do anything I don't want to do, and I _really_ wanted to do that." He grins again, far too easily, and wraps his arm around Steve's shoulders. Usually, gestures like these make Steve feel small and fragile, but sitting in a dumpster with the strangest kid he's ever met - it's oddly comfortable. "Anything for a pal, huh?"

"You keep saying that, but you still don't know my name."

"Well, gee. That sounds like your cue." It turns to half-hearted wrestling and laughter again, just long enough for Steve to get away from his grasp and stand. He dusts himself off ( mostly for show, because it makes the kid snort in amusement ), then offers a hand to help him up.

"Steve Rogers."

The boy takes it easily, careful not to actually put any weight on Steve as he rises to his feet. He's taller, naturally, and broader too, but he shares his smile like they're one in the same.

"James Barnes. Good to meet you. Now can we get out of this can and call ourselves friends?"

Steve laughs, shaking his head, and pushes James on his way over the edge.

"Do I even get a choice in the matter?"

"No, you do not."

And - hey. It's not the worst thing he's been bullied into.


End file.
